Létissier's Legend : a Professor Layton AU
by Spanna-in-the-works
Summary: Clive Létissier's parents were killed when he was young by the Guardians of Equilibrium, his country's government. Several years later, he goes to university to study Protective Media (censored by government), but stumbles into the wrong lecture by accident, and meets a certain professor teaching there...
1. Prologue

BANG!

Thunder crashed outside as the night sky drew in. The wind howled a heartbroken howl as it swept away leaves and twigs from their trees. A small mouse scattered around, desperate to protect her young from the raging storm, gathering leaves and broken-off bark to act as shelter. Suddenly, a cat snatched her up in its mouth and scarpered.

Marianne packed her son's bags, ready to go at any minute. She knew they were coming. They'd gone too far this time. She slammed the suitcase lid down with a sharp exhale, and wanted to weep but knew there was no point.

"Why are you packing my bags, Mummy?" A small voice broke the silence.

"We're...going on holiday. To somewhere where there's lots of nice people, and we're going to have a great time."

"Really? On holiday? Wow!" The young boy smiled a gap-toothed grin, as the sound of car doors slamming sent shivers down the woman's spine.

"Yes. Mummy just has to pop downstairs for a minute. You stay up here and think of all the things you can do when we're away, OK?"

"OK!" Marianne smiled melancholically *if only he knew* she thought.

She heard loud banging on the door.

"They're here.." She whispered. She could already hear her husband answering the door.

"Hello? Yes, my wife's here aswell. Marianne!"

"Yes?" She dashed down the stairs, like a frightened bunny dashing from its owners.

"They're here for us."

She walked towards the door, seeing two men in government uniforms, one holding their order for execution, the other holding a gun.

"We have a son, who's currently upstairs. He isn't like us at all, and thinks he's about to go on holiday."

The gun-holder smirked,

"They're so easy to fool when they're young, eh? Right then, out you come."

Both parents stepped out of the house, as the soldier loaded his gun. The other soldier tied blindfolds on them, after which both parents kneeled facing the gun's barrel.

"Now," the gun-holder started, "You'll feel a slight pinch..."

BANG!

BANG!

Both parents collapsed.

The soldiers heard from inside the house : "Mummy? Daddy? Who were you talking to?"

The soldiers headed up to where the voice came from, to find a young boy, sitting cross-legged on the floor in his parents' room.

"Mr. C. Létissier?" One of the soldiers asked.

"Yes, that's me. Where are my parents? Who are you two?" The boy seemed intrigued, his eyes darting between the two.

"Ask no questions, and you shall receive no lies. You are to come with us, please, young sir. Take your belongings with you."

The boy grabbed the suitcase and was marched off by the soldiers, out the bedroom door, across the landing, down the stairs, out the front door and towards the soldiers' car. The young boy turned to see his house one last time, at which he saw his parents. He yelled,

"Mum!"

"Dad!"


	2. 1

It was Autumn. The leaves tumbled across the winding streets of London, past each pale face passing by. People swarmed each pavement, like famished rats searching for their next meal. The clock let out 10 deep chimes, signalling it to be 10 o'clock in the morning.

Clive's eyes flicked open. He kept having that dream recently, of when his parents were murdered, and he had to leave his home of 13 years. He was beginning to think it was coming up to the tenth anniversary of that day, however he wasn't too sure. His first few days in governmental care hadn't been easy and he lost track of the days. He never got the exact date of when his parents were killed, however he believed it to be around this time of year.

He had no idea why he awoke with such eagerness : for it was Tuesday, meaning another boring day, in boring university with another propaganda-filled lesson of 'Media Studies', which was essentially a middle-aged woman called Prof. Webster (who was always weirdly joyful, earning her the nickname Prof. 'Merry Miriam' Webster) droning on and on about how to write government-approved articles and songs and films, without actually putting any of what she said into motion. Clive had not been doing media for long, yet he already despised it.

He shuffled towards the kitchen counter and slotted a piece of spongy white bread into the toaster on top of it, simultaneously flicking the kettle on to boil. Fresh, high-quality food was hard to come by, especially for struggling students who can barely afford anything. All the scrumptious, crème de la crème food was reserved for the upper classes- which, for obvious reasons, Clive was not a part of.

Once his breakfast was ready, Clive sat down on a threadbare, moth-eaten sofa, toast in one hand, teacup in the other. He switched on the 12-inch screen television in the corner of his one-room (labelled 'studio') flat. The newsreader blared " Three rebels captured today outside of the Tower Bridge, currently awaiting trial."

That was always the story - rebels being ratted out and being forced into an unfair trial in which they were guilty unless proven innocent. If they were lucky, they faced life imprisonment, if not so lucky, then immediate execution. But the one flaw was that anyone could rat you out to someone : if there was so much as a rumour about you involving an illegal act, you were done for, meaning that worst enemies could condemn each other to a death sentence simply by uttering a few words about each other. That was the worst fear of everyone in Britain-4, formerly known as England (Wales was Britain-1, Scotland now Britain-2 and Ireland = Britain-3), not to say it was any different anywhere else in the NUKE ( Neo United Kingdom for Everyone).

Clive arrived outside of Uni-3-E's gates ; that was all any minor building in Capital-4 (London) was labelled as, function, area number, and a letter to order it, for example Theatre-2-C for a theatre. Houses and other living spaces were simply referred to as 'London-#-#', the building Clive lived in was called 'London-1-A', for example. His friend, Dan, who had been with him since secondary school, came up to him.

"Morning, Clive! You alright?" He said, in his usual calm tone.

"I stayed up all night finishing our essay for Media, and as a result, my blood content is now at about 50% various energy drinks!"

"...What essay, sorry?" Dan said, confused.

"The 2000-word essay on how the media portrays the people of Britain-1 compared to Britain-4? It was due in today."

There was a long pause, in which Dan looked at Clive in absolute hopelessness.

"...You've forgotten it, haven't you, Dan?"

Dan frequently forgot his homework- most times before it was due in, but not this time. He wasn't a bad student either, he always tried hard and got top marks, yet he could hardly remember what homework he had and when ; Clive was like his walking, talking homework diary, and Dan would be lost without him.

The bell rang, signalling that it was time to head to class. Clive only started university a few weeks ago and had no idea of how to get to Prof. Webster's room, and Dan, being as hopeless as he is, didn't either, so they both got horribly lost in the purgatorial labyrinth that was the university corridors. After about five minutes of nervous scuttling, the two first-year students came across a classroom door marked with a top hat.

"This one, Clive!" Dan shouted, exasperated.

Neither were sure if this was the right classroom, yet neither were sure if it wasn't either. Clive walked towards the aforementioned top-hat door and turned the door handle, proceeding in once the door opened. Unfortunately, neither spotted the plaque right next to the door, which read:

 ** _Archaeology_**

 ** _Room 27_**

 ** _Prof. H. Layton_**


	3. 2

To their surprise, the classroom they stepped into was not Media, nor was it led by Prof. Webster! There were posters of archaeologists scattered around the room, as well as pictures of dig sites. Fossils were displayed in glass cases at the back of the room and teaching at the front, was a man well into his thirties, wearing a black top hat with an orange ribbon tied around it by the base.

"Sorry, could I help you two young men with anything?" He turned to the Media students that had just stepped inside, "You seem lost. Are you new?"

"Yeah, we're new. We got lost in the corridors of this god-awful maze called a university, could you tell us what class this is, please?" Clive piped up.

The top-hatted man chuckled warmly,

"Oh, dear!" He started sympathetically, looking at the two with a kindred expression.

"Well, you're in room 27, which is Archaeology, and I am Professor Layton."

"Archaeology?" Dan looked at Clive with blissfully ignorant look, like that of a child that didn't know of the horrors of the world yet.

"Can we stay here instead of going to Media?" Dan pleaded.

The professor chuckled again "Why, young man, do you really not like Media studies?"

"NO!!" The two students responded, startling the other students. One girl nearly fell off her chair, she was that shaken by the sound.

"Well, I'm afraid I do not have the means to contact Prof. Webster and arrange for you two to stay here," the Professor started, "However, I run a lunch-time club for those who really don't like Media studies that you might like to join. It's in this room, so make sure you remember where to go this time, else you shall miss it! Now, if you hurry along now, you might be able to make it back before Prof. Webster takes the register!"

"Thanks, Professor!" The two boys chorused, as they dashed out of the room. The young girl, who had fallen off her chair, had now set herself to rights and got out her exercise book. She had shoulder-length, dark, wavy hair and deep brown eyes. Her skin contrasted perfectly with her aforementioned features, being porcelain white, complimented by a canary yellow cardigan she was wearing.

They decided to attend this lunch-time meeting of the Professor's, despite being bored out of their minds in Merry Miriam's lecture. Dan, however, was a bit less worn out as he had to deal with the constant shame that plagued him over not doing the homework, and being given a severe warning by Prof. Webster. For as cheery as she may be, nobody wishes to cross her, as her once happy smile turns into a frighteningly harsh scowl.

Somehow, after ten minutes of tracking the rooms by number, they came to room 27 again, and stepped inside. However, it wasn't just the Professor they had met before who was there, but another person, who they assumed was a professor, was standing at the front next to him. He had brown hair, a similar colour to the first Professor's, yet his was styled into what looked like a bob, with red eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. The first Professor recognised the two boys instantly and called out,

"Ah, you two made it! Welcome!" Causing the other professor to turn around, his eyes alert behind his glasses. Both professors walked up to the students, and with a stern smile, the second professor introduced himself:

"Professor Sycamore, also teaching Archaeology. It's a pleasure to meet you both." This Professor Sycamore looked uncannily similar to Layton, however neither boy had anytime to comment on it before someone else shyly opened the door. It was a young lady, followed by a little boy who was around about the same age as Clive was when he lost his family. The young lady had big, doleful brown eyes, light brown hair falling below her shoulders with lighter and darker streaks running through it, and a constantly worried face. The young boy, however, looked nearly identical, Clive thought, to his younger self, yet this boy looked more fretful than he ever did at that age, and had his hair (supposedly) grimly-parted, however he had spikes of hair sticking out, suggesting that there was more to this boy than meets the eye. Layton called out to them,

"Ah, Luke, Flora! Just in time. Come, sit!" Causing them to shuffle awkwardly towards his direction, Dan catching the girls faint whisper meaning to be an 'excuse me, please'. Dan turned to Clive.

"Who are those two, and why are they here?"

"Don't ask me," Clive retorted, " I'm just as clueless as you are. Ask Professor Layton!"

But before they got the chance to, the professors began the session.


	4. 3

"Greetings, everyone!" Layton only raised his voice slightly, yet everyone immediately fell silent, as if a monarch had entered the room.

"Thank you all for your continued dedication to our cause, which has now influenced two young students to awaken and join us!" It seemed rousing. Too rousing to not be suspicious, Clive thought. He couldn't help but be worried about what he and Dan had actually signed up for. Dan could only think about one thing: what was the second professors name again? S..S...Stickyfloor? Sick-no-more? Stare-at-door? He couldn't remember, so he decided to just stick with Professor S, as Professor S turned to them and said,

"Why don't you two young fellows introduce yourselves, and take a seat?" The latter of the two seemed more ideal for both, however in order to accomplish that, they needed to complete the former task. Dan cleared his throat and went first.

"Hi, so..my name is Dan. Daniel Hadford, if you want to address me formally." He turned to his partner, as Clive felt all eyes engrave little holes all over his body.

"Clive...C-Clive Létissier." He managed to awkwardly croak out. He could hear people muttering and murmuring expectantly, and wondered why they reacted that way to him and not with Dan. Had he done something? Did he not come off quite as confidently as Dan? He was fine in front of small groups of people, but addressing gargantuan classes of university students was something he had yet to grasp.

"A warm welcome to you both." Layton said warmly, smiling calmly at them both.

Sycamore hissed politely and kindly enough "You can sit down now." They then chose to sit next to the girl with the yellow cardi (or rather, the one that fell over). On the desk in front of her, was a lemon yellow ring binder with the name ' ** _Marina_** **_Navarro_** ' inked neatly in the top right corner of it. There was another name written underneath it, but this one was rubbed out, and Clive could only make out the first few letters on it. _E.._. _tav_. Was all that could be salvaged of it. Strange, he thought, but he was drawn away from the binder by a sudden remark he heard someone say.

"Down with the NUKE! Free our Folley!" Folly? That means...crazy. Were the people here insane? 'Our Folley'-maybe that's referring to that voice you always hear inside your head that comes into play when standing on a cliff, telling you to jump off like demon perched on your shoulder, whispering into your ear, Clive thought. The words 'L'appel du vide', French for 'the call of the void', came to mind.

"A very good note to start on, thank you." Professor Layton started, being careful to keep the heckler anonymous, as he was not one to name and shame. He continued,

"It is coming up on the tenth anniversary of the Red night, when our force lost hundreds of our members nationwide, 10 of such victims were from this district."

The Red night? Was that what they had labelled this massacre? And why was this happening the same time as Clive's parents had supposedly died? Maybe.. they were linked. Both Clive and Dan were intrigued by this new information, and sat forward rapturously.

"These ten shall not remain nameless,"the aforementioned professor stated, walking towards the blackboard at the front of the class. He began to write out several names on the board.

 _Jaqueline Hyde_

Dan snorted, seeing that this Jackie's parents saw the opportunity and took it.

 _Delwyn Ap Aneurin_

Clive wasn't even going to try to pronounce that name, partially as he doesn't know how, but mainly out of respect for the victim.

 _Lewis King_

Dan could've sworn he'd seen that name before, but he wasn't sure where.

 _David King_

That must've been his brother, Dan thought, as he could not come up with any other solution except the two being strangers with the same surname, and even that was unlikely.

 _Eleri Hanna_

She was Clive's neighbour at the time, and several years older than him. Her parents were never about, so she was constantly home alone. An image of her appeared in Clive's mind, one of her in her bedroom, sticking up a poster of a woman with bright red hair and pale skin standing confidently, with a name underneath. But whatever the name on the poster was, he had forgotten.

 _Eleanor Darlington-Powell_

Neither two knew who this was, however the girl next to them, who they assumed to be Marina, twitched. A movement the two picked up on, but did not dwell on.

 _Marcel Williams_

Now it was the Professor's turn to hesitate, adjusting his in-no-need-of-adjusting hat, as he wrote out the next name.

 _Claire Folley_

Something clicked in Clive's mind. When the meeting first started, someone had mentioned a 'Folley', however he had mistaken it for being a hidden message, not an actual person. And the poster Eleri had: could she have been the person on it? Why did the Professor hesitate before writing her name? But these questions quickly disappeared from Clive's mind as he saw two more names written on the board, ones he never expected to see.

 _Marianne Létissier_

 _Arthur Létissier_

Both professors looked up at Clive, as did the future-doppelgänger boy and the shy young girl, both the latter twos' beady young eyes staring him down. Even Dan had taken to turning and looking at him expectantly, yet with a slightly warmer feel in his eyes. The room fell silent.

 _No,_ Clive thought _, they can't be my...No, no, this is all a dream, and I'm going to wake up in my bed any second, I can feel it. In fact, just to prove it, I'll pinch myself!_ And pinch himself he did.

 _Ouch._

A sudden anger sparked inside of him, which only grew as the Professor continued speaking.

"Inspiring individuals snuffed out by the government that was meant to vouch for them. And these are only a handful from our area. As mentioned before, hundreds of lives were lost that night, all in the name of 'peace'. The same 'peace' that involves harming innocent civilians who had done nothing to deserve whatever punishment they were in for, that advocates for bombing other civilians abroad, and that traps the entirety of Britain under their thumbs."

Suddenly, the other professor, (dubbed Professor S by Dan), scuttled over to Layton and whispered something in his ear.

"It appears we've almost run out of time, I'm afraid. Sincerest apologies, but thank you to everyone for attending, don't forget about September 14th, and I hope you attend tomorrow as well. Thank you all." Immediate chatter filled the room. Dan turned to Clive, as if to say something, but was cut short by another voice.

"So, following in your parents' footsteps, eh?" The yellow-cardigan girl next to them said.

"How did you know they were my parents?" Clive inquired.

"I put two and two together, mate. In case you didn't know, not many people around here are called 'Létissier'. It's quite unusual, like mine: Marina Navarro." Her introduction seemed rehearsed, or so they both thought.

"O...K.. Then, Marina." Clive said slowly. Dan, being his usual diplomatic-as-a-tank self, asked Marina,

"What's with the rubbed-out part on your folder?" Making the girl look at him amicably, but with an almost undetectable note of surprise. She opened her mouth to say something, possibly an explanation as to why, however just as she did-

The bell rang.


End file.
